


Press

by justanotheranonymouswriter



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Gen, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25577392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotheranonymouswriter/pseuds/justanotheranonymouswriter
Summary: Plotless plotless but cute moment between Harvey and Donna on his desk at home. Also, porn. Inspired by Cassie (@darveypainted) and her beautiful Darvey images.
Relationships: Donna Paulsen & Harvey Specter, Donna Paulsen/Harvey Specter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	Press

Donna sits in weird places. 

She’s the same age as him, born into a world where a phone was portable based on how far the cord would stretch, where whispered adolescent conversations in kitchen pantries were considered private, where the phrase ‘5 more minutes, I need the line’ meant disaster and where a clear plastic phone in your bedroom was considered the height of wealth and status. Like every other kid his age, Harvey had lived with the background noise of friend’s sisters perching themselves in corners, along staircase bannisters and stretched out along the floor to conduct the important business of the day - who had stopped sitting with who in the cafeteria discussed with the same gravity of the New York Times covering presidential elections. 

Harvey had grown up with this, his developing interest in girls marked by covert glances towards those sisters of his friends, collapsed on the floor or reimagining ways to sit on couches while they twirled coiled cables around fingers and wrists and peppered sentences with phrases that felt like secret code he could never quite decipher. It was mysterious, the concept of girls, a whole species that looked like boys but spoke a language and lived by an internal system of checks and balances that made no sense to him. Initially, he’d tried. 

And then his mom had happened, and he stopped trying, because he figured, there was no understanding to discover, it was all just instinct and selfishness and who wants to know that code anyhow. And he’d tried so hard to be the opposite of all of that he ended up running straight into it anyway, and he’d lived in it for years and called it loyalty. He’d worked so hard to be his father and all along he’d been Lily - the Lily of his bitter imagination, at least. He’d torn himself to shreds and followed hollow nights with what he’d thought were charming breakfasts and flirting but what were really compensation and apology, and he’d congratulated himself the whole time. 

And then, Donna.

Donna, who’d woken up his childhood longing for someone for him, someone forever, someone not just to kiss or drag into bed but to walk home with, to hold hands with, to go out with and to come home to. She had, somehow, taken all the parts of him of now and all the parts of him from before he’d twisted himself up in hiding, and pulled all the threads together into something human and imperfect but more than he’d ever hoped he could be.

He thinks about it a lot, how she hasn’t so much saved him as she has stitched all the parts of him together in a way that finally makes sense.

He comes home from his early morning at the boxing ring, as he does now, slightly more unwilling to drag himself from bed and from her, slightly more eager to get home, and he slips in the door quietly in case she’s still asleep. She’s adorably grumpy in the morning if he wakes her and he likes that, but he also likes climbing, fresh from the shower, back into bed, catching his body against hers in the fresh of the morning and letting the warming sun lull them both away for an hour. 

This morning though, he pads quietly in the entrance, pulling his shirt off on the way to the shower, rounds the corner of the kitchen bench, looks up -

and stops. 

Just how she probably has since childhood, Donna doesn’t sit normally to talk on the phone, but, adorably, he thinks, finds ways to sit that seem incongruous to the public her that she puts out, all poised and steady. Instead he finds her stretched out on their bed with her head hung off the end, spare hand lingering in the air, or cross legged in front of his wardrobe, like she’s only just reigned in the childhood instinct to hide behind his hanging coats. 

And this morning, Donna isn’t in bed, asleep or muttering at him to fucking keep it down, but there, in his shirt, perched inexplicably on the edge of his desk, knees pulled up so she can rest her feet on the frame, sipping a coffee and asking Rachel questions, probably about shoes, on her phone. 

And Harvey realises in that tiny moment, in that insignificant detail, all over again, that she’s everything he buried and wanted for as long as he can remember.

She’s goddamn breathtaking.

He doesn’t stop, or smile at her on the way to the shower. He presses past the kitchen and the sofa towards her, and he knows the look on his face is blatant and obvious when she glances at him and her eyebrow lifts up in that way she does when he’s looking at her like he isn’t sure he can control himself and she’s daring him to slick his hands and his mouth over her. 

It’s like dancing, the way she knows to move with him, like the first time he showed up at her door with a changed look in his eyes and she knew just how to life her arms to pull him in at the same moment he pressed himself towards her, and she does it now, knees slipping apart to make space as she tilts her body and hips fresh towards him, her eyes locked on him and her phone in her hand just in the right position so he can take it from her.

He lifts it to his mouth, says, his voice all gravel, “she’ll have to call you back,” and hangs up blindly as he presses his mouth open against hers and she slides her hands up the bare of his back, fingernails catching the ridges of his spine until she finds his scalp and pushes her fingers through the slight damp at the back of his neck. 

He feels her smile kick against his mouth - she finds him cute, she says, when he gets all possessive, and he never has it in him to feel put out by it so he just smiles back against her and pushes his tongue over her bottom lip before sucking it between his teeth in just the right way that makes her mouth slack open against his and her breath huff in a low moan. She slips her hands to his jaw, gentle and steady, stilling him so she can focus on the rhythm of her lips against his, the taste of him, the rough of his early morning beard, and goddamn he loves her.

He lets his fingers slip down her sides, her skin familiar but still as thrilling as the first time he ever got to do it, the relief of  _ finally _ and the tender of  _ we almost didn’t get here _ and he cups her hips to pull her more solidly against him, the height of his desk settling her perfectly against him, and he didn’t plan it that way when he’d bought it but he’s not complaining. 

Donna slips her hands down, tickling her thumbs over his neck and collar bone and settling her palms over his chest, flashing goosebumps over his skin as she does. She lets her thumbs edge lightly over his chest, over his nipples, just enough to make him suck in a breath against her mouth, murmur, “Donna Paulsen, are you trying to seduce me?”

“Like I need to try,” she says back, teasing and challenging, and she kisses along his jaw, her teeth scraping just lightly, just enough, and then she presses her mouth up just behind his ear, her breath warm, and he feels his dick twitch and wonders again how it is that she can manipulate him like clay with just a few touches. And then she slips her hands to the collar of his shirt that’s sitting loosely around her shoulders, pulls it just so, and it slips down to her elbows, and as she does she whispers into his ear, “I missed you this morning.”

“I missed you too,” he says, pressing his fingers under the strap of her bra - purple, his favourite, but he’s too turned on to think about how she’s probably done that on purpose - and she says Harvey, says she wants him, her lips against his earlobe. 

Harvey presses a loose, open mouthed kiss into the hollow where her shoulder and neck meet, tugging the strap of her bra aside so he can follow the line of her collarbone with his tongue, fingernails and he thinks he’s holding his own until she bites his earlobe softly, tugs, whispers, I want you to make me come, and hearing her voice like that outside of her dreams, all low and throaty, is still new and overwhelming enough that he’s pretty sure he forgets his own name for a moment. 

Donna has her palms flat on the desk so she can lean back on her hands, and the angle is just right for him to lean his hips against hers more fully, and she tightens her legs around his waist while he wraps his arms around her back and unhooks the clasp of her bra. It falls loose from her back, and her slips the straps down her arms, dropping it behind him in the same movement that he presses his palms up to cup her breasts, pressing in with his fingertips and letting the calluses that sit at the base of his fingers - one day he’ll need to start spending less time in heavy gloves - rough over her nipples. Donna lets a breathy sigh out that turns into his name, and he says, “Donna,” as she runs her hands over her torso and hooks his hips against her. He presses his hips in, slow and firm, his cock edging against the seam of his pants, and he feels her hitch up, settling her center against him, her belly sitting against his, and he feels a wash of pure joy and need wash over him - she fits perfectly, like they were built a matching pair. 

He presses his hands and thumbs more fully over her nipples, teasing them taut under his fingers, and her head falls back so she can focus on the feel of his skin on hers, and she pushes a slow and steadying breath out between slack lips. 

It turns into a low muttering of his name when he drops his head and lathes his tongue over her nipple before pulling it into his mouth and biting, just lightly, letting his teeth scrape, and Donna slips her hand up the back of his neck to pull him more firmly against her, her other hand dragging down his back, and she finds his waistband and presses under, cupping his ass solidly. 

It’s only a moment before she’s got her hands back around his front, nudging him back gently so she can get to the button on his pants, and he feels a kick in his gut when she pops it and drags his zipper down. She pushes her thumbs against his skin around his hips to hook his pants off the rise of his hips, and then he feels his breath gutter out against the bottom of his lungs when she brings her hands back to his front and slips her hand along his length. She frees him from his pants, taking a moment to find a languid rhythm over him, her thumb teasing over his head with each pull. It’s slow, light, and he leans his forehead against hers, taking a quiet moment in the middle of everything, cupping her jaw with one hand and leaning on the desk with the other because his knees suddenly feel like liquid. 

Donna nudges his head up with her spare hand, murmurs his name, kisses him slowly, and he isn’t sure exactly what happened but he’s gone, lost in her taste and the feel of her over him, the world blinking to nothing around them, and he could have lost thirty seconds or an hour to the haze of her touch and lips, but in the middle of it all her feels her find his hand and slip her fingers between his, squeezing gently to bring him back to her, and he opens his eyes and she’s there - Donna, the literal woman of his dreams, the one he thought he could never, would never, said they’d never. She’s smiling, that hazy, knowing, loved and lusted smile that he’s still getting to know, and he wonders distantly if he could just stay here forever. 

She brings his hand to her mouth, kissing his knuckles, then pulls down, guiding him between her legs, nudging her underwear aside, and she doesn’t need to show him but he loves it when she does, loves how she’s unapologetic and patient with him and herself, not chasing release so much as connection, stroking her thumb over his while she circles over herself, nudging fingertips inside, just a little. She slides his thumb up to her clit and circles the pad of his thumb over her, and he feels as much as hears her lungs catch when she finds the right spot, and she sighs into it, slacks her fingers away from his and lets him take over, sighing deliberately to steady her breath into her gut. 

Harvey feels somewhat dazed as he thumbs along her folds and clit, as she keeps a steady rhythm over his cock, as they catch each other’s gaze and it’s all almost too much and he wants to say  _ I love you _ but it doesn’t feel adequate so instead he just stares and mingles breath with her and he thinks his exhaling becomes him saying her name at one point, he’s not sure. 

Then she’s definitely saying “Harvey,” and “please,” and she’s kicked her hips towards him, leaning back for purchase and the slow and maddening stroke of her hand over his cock becomes her guiding again, pulling him to her, and the quiet ‘oh’ she makes when he lengthens his body along hers, hiking his hips in and letting her guide him inside, and he still can’t quite believe she’s his, and what the hell good thing did he ever do to find himself here in this moment. 

She finds his mouth and kisses him, gripping his hips and pulling him against her, and he finds a slow, long rhythm, and it’s not at all what he had in mind when he’d seen her on the phone. Whatever spark had kicked him right in the spine and made him end her phone call was still there, low and humming, but this isn’t that, this isn’t just sex or even fucking, this is love, and he’s still learning it, but it takes things that should be just lust and makes them this collection of tender, low, longing moments - moments he’s aware he’ll remember forever even as they’re happening, and right here, pushing inside of her and with her eyes on his, it’s one of them. 

He says, Donna, and he says, love you, and she says it back, and she kisses him and rocks her hips against his, her breath slotting against his mouth, and she angles back until his pubic bone catches her clit with each slow thrust, there, and god, she’s perfect, he thinks. 

He doesn’t speed up, keeping the press and pull slow and long, but he hitches her legs up higher around his hips, finding a deeper angle, and she’s tight around him, he can feel the head of his cock bump against her wall, and they both huff dry breaths, and her breath is catching shallower and high against her lungs. He leans his weight on one hand, slipping the other between them to nudge over her clit, circling lazily, and he chases the way her breath bumps into her lungs, and she’s dragging him closer to the edge with every breath, every low moan, every time she squeezes around him, and when she says, god Harvey I’m so close, he’s pretty sure he could die in that moment and not regret a thing. 

She’s falling apart a moment later, and it’s only a couple of seconds before he follows her, leaping after her into the static.

It’s Donna who quietly leads them to the bedroom, after, at some point when he’s still caught in a euphoric haze, and he knows he’s gone when he hears himself vaguely suggesting that he still needs to shower and Donna pulls him into bed with a gentle laugh and says, sleep now, shower later. 

Harvey wraps his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest, the still early morning promising to hold them, and as he lets himself doze, and maybe sleep, he thinks - 

Somehow. Somehow, despite it all, you found her. 

  
  
_end_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, reviews/comments are so appreciated, and also go check out Cassie's art. She'll change your life or at least your day.


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